Forgotten Journal of Bronil Nightwind Book5
[[Forgotten_Journal_of_Bronil_Nightwind | The Forgotten Journal of Bronil Nightwind]] ' Book 5' :- by Bronil A Forgotten Voice "Where shall I take you first, Bronil?", the nether drake asked in a soft voice. Bronil had not planned on one of the Netherwing becoming a permanent traveling companion, but the nether drake was genuine in his desire to repay him for all he had done on Netherwing Ledge, and he could not turn away such sincerity. It seemed he would be returning his gryphon to the Wildhammers who trained it. "We are going to Nagrand. There is a demonic presence there I wish to investigate. Before we go however, I would like to know your name, lest I call you 'dragon'" "My name is. . . difficult. . . to pronounce, and does not translate well into the Common tongue." "Truly?" Bronil said as he swung his right leg over the drake's back and sat down, "then for now I will call you Mush'al". "Mush'al. . . I like the sound of it. What does it mean?" "It means 'brother' in my native tongue". "Brother?" "Not long ago, I swore an oath to Mordenai that I would watch over the Netherwing Flight and see to it that its bloodline is renewed. When I did this, he called me a brother of the Netherwing." Mush'al did not smile, but the pleasure was obvious in his voice, "And so you are. It is good to see you take your oaths seriously, brother." ------------------------------------------------------------------- The large crystal at Oshu'gun did not reveal much information. It was filled with demons and warlocks, and one captive naaru who spoke not a word, and did nothing once Bronil had killed his captors. He now headed northeast towards the forge camps to look for additional clues. Come, Nightwind. It is time for us to be one again. . . Bronil lost all train of thought as the voice echoed throughout his mind. He shook his head, wondering if he had temporarily lost his sanity. This new vessel will do for the time being, but I will soon be rid of it. You always were the perfect one to wield me. . . and you still are Abruptly, Bronil guided the drake to the nearest landing spot. That voice. . . I know you. Where are you?!" I am in the city that was sundered before and shall be once again. Do hurry. My appetite has. . . broadened. . . since last we were one, and there is so much prey to found here. "What is it, Bronil? What troubles you?" Mush'al asked in a concerned tone. "Quickly, Mush'al, take us back to Shattrath. I must reach Stormwind with all haste." As soon as Bronil had finished the sentence, Mush'al lept off the ground and took the phrase "with all haste" seriously. "What awaits us in Stormwind if I may ask?" "Something that should have perished in flame, and it awaits me, not us. Wait for my return in Shattrath." "But why? I can help you! I am capable of more than just flight. . ." "I do not doubt it, Mush'al, but this is something I must do alone. Please, trust me." Mush'al let out a resigned sigh, "Very well. On the strength of your bond with the Netherwing, I promise to wait for you in Shattrath." As they landed in A'dal's room, Bronil lept down from Mush'al's back, and ran as fast as he could to the portal to Stormwind. He just prayed he wouldn't arrive too late. The Slayer Returned In a shop in the Old Town of Stormwind, Bronil found the source of the voice. Moonwillow's entire body had become shadowy, much like the Shadowform practiced by some priests with the exception that an intense aura of bloodlust had penetrated the entire room. Bronil stared through Moonwillow, as though trying to intimidate the malevolent force possessing her. Kodrak issued a low growl, and his legs shifted to allow him to charge at a moment's notice. "Ah, there you are. I've missed you. It must have been so lonely for you, denying your true nature all this time. We are so similar, you and I. A perfect match." she cooed. The possession had not changed her voice it seemed, and under normal circumstances, Bronil would be slightly disturbed by her talking to him like this. In this instance however, he knew exactly who he was speaking to. "I am nothing like you, Demonslayer. That is why you are in your present state." Demonslayer; the name of a sword Bronil once wielded that was very powerful when used against demons. It was a gift from his teacher, Jocaste, who had trained him to be a Hunter. More so than other people, she knew what was driving his desire to hunt down every last demon in the universe. It was not mere revenge for his dead family members, it was a reckoning, and he pursued it with all his heart. The sword was intended to test Bronil, to see if he could hunt demons without becoming one himself. He had passed the test by eventually destroying the blade. Unfortunately, it seemed the evil that dwelt within the blade had survived, and worse, become sentient and somewhat independent. "Nothing like me? Why don't you let me show you your true nature?" her eyes glanced briefly at Kodrak, "We can use that rug of yours to start." "You think can defeat the one who silenced you in Felwood? Then leave the Knight Ranger out of this and come try me!" "Defeat you?" she repeated with a maniacal laugh, "I will *complete* you! Not here, though. I plan to make your road a long one. . ." Suddenly, dark energy seemed to shoot up from the floor boards, and stripped away his freedom of movement. The bond he shared with Kodrak told him the bear was also bound. He silently cursed himself for not noticing the trap sooner, and letting his anger get the better of him. ". . . and all roads start at home." she said with a grin. A moment later, Moonwillow's hearthstone removed her from the land of the Eastern Kingdoms. ------------------------------------------------------------------- Soon, Bronil arrived in the Temple of the Moon at the point where portals to Darnassus are woven to take their travelers. He did not bother looking around the room to see if Demonslayer would try to ambush him. For one, Demonslayer's best chance to attack was when Bronil was paralyzed. Secondly, Bronil knew how Demonslayer's mind worked. He wasn't brought here to be trapped, he was brought here to suffer. Knowing this, Bronil hopped on Wind's back, and did not even bother searching the city. Fortunately, Wind was a much faster cat than Moonwillow's nightsaber, and Bronil caught up with her in short order. She stood in the middle of Starbreeze village. The furbolgs that had taken over the village had now become corpses. Bronil stepped down off of Wind, and made his way over to Moonwillow with Kodrak right behind him. "How easily these creatures fall to me, like chaff in the wind. This is power; power that could be yours, Nightwind". "This is what you call power? No wonder you could not prevail over me in Felwood." "Ah, I see. You still need more instruction. . ." This time, Bronil was ready for the attack, and gave the mental command for Kodrak to charge. A barrage of teeth and claws clashed with foul magic. He silently watched it all, not lifting a finger to aid Kodrak. Despite all of Demonslayer's posturing, Bronil knew the bear would need no help. It was not long before Moonwillow fell to the ground, bloodied and exhausted. With his right paw pinning Moonwillow to the ground, Kodrak growled, awaiting the command to deliver the finishing blow. Bronil looked down at the possessed priestess, "Is my rug too much for you?" The shadows that surrounded Moonwillow dispersed, and aside from the torn clothing, blood, and claw marks, she looked normal, "Wh-where am I?" she asked in a weak voice. Kodrak took his paw off of her and returned to Bronil's side. "You and I need to have a talk, Knight Ranger Starlight. . ." Dagger's Night "You were supposed to kill me you know." The two had retreated to one of the abandoned houses of Starbreeze Village, Moonwillow asking Bronil to keep his bear outside. "It would have posssed my killer and if the bear had done it's job for you, it would have jumped to you through your link. " She paused again, drinking from one of the partly shattered cups they had found in the residence. The occupying Firbolgs had abused the place rather badly and virtually nothing had been left intact inside. "I'd been traveling in the Burning Steppes fulfilling some requests from the dwarves that dwelled there when I noticed a glint coming from the edge of one of the lava pools. I sensed strong magic in the blade shards which were surprisingly cool to the touch and easily removed from the lava. And at that point I somehow got the notion that these shards could be rendered down into a potent enchantment against demons. And so I took them to my studio in Stormwind. The only thing I remember at that point was beginning the disenchantment ritual when I felt the Shadow rise within me as it does when I take on the form, but unbidden and more powerful than I'd ever experienced. After that all I recall are fragments of thoughts, mine interwoven with it's thoughts and desire." She shivered again but recoiled at any attempt to comfort her. "Despite what you've done for me, I'm not very comfortable with you now, and I'd rather your bear kept it's distance from me for now. But I've got to get this off my chest before we leave here, before we must face other people. In it's present state this village is as private as it can get." She paused again drinking deeply before continuing. "It's a powerful being.... Bronil. the Sword you knew and the Dagger I bore were just aspects of it's nature. it's physical extension into our world. You dealt it a blow by damaging that form but it's true nature kept it from dissolution in the lava. And after you defeated it here, it retreated through Shadow.... it's out there still... still alive... and still very very angry. You're going to have to find a more sure way of destroying it now, and the only way to do that will be to search out it's true essence, the center of it's life. Only there can the entity be defeated for once and all." The Slayer Returned (cont) As Moonwillow spoke, Bronil glanced at the areas of her body where Kodrak had struck to make sure his bandages were still holding. Not nearly for the first time in his life, he wished he possessed the healing powers his elder brother once wielded. The bandages would hold for now, but she would need time for the wounds to heal completely. Afterall, the bear had nearly killed her. Fortunately, Shadow wasn't traveling with him; if he had been, he probably would have killed her outright. Satisified with the bandages, Bronil turned his full attention to what Moonwillow was saying. The more she spoke, the more he wanted to bolt out the door and track Demonslayer down. Unfortunately, the only tracks Demonslayer leaves are corpses. "You're going to have to find a more sure way of destroying it now, and the only way to do that will be to search out its true essence, the center of its life. Only there can the entity be defeated for once and all." The center of its life? He had no real clue what that might be. Demonslayer's only true drive was bloodlust; how could that have a center? Well, whatever its center was, he needed to find it quickly before more innocent life was taken. Back when he wielded the blade, it seemed to be at its strongest in Felwood, so he decided he would start his search there. "Thank you for sharing that, Knight Ranger Starlight. I will see to it that Demonslayer is destroyed for good, one way or another." He stood up, and began to walk out of the abandoned house. He almost made it out, but stopped in the middle of the front door's frame. He couldn't leave without saying it. With his back still turned, he lowered his head, closed his eyes, and swallowed to clear his throat. "I am sorry, Moonwillow. I truly am sorry. . ." It wasn't like him to use first names when he could avoid it, but he owed her a personal apology. She almost died because of him; because he was not strong or wise enough to dispose of the blade properly. The pain she had endured, the brutal slaughter of the furbolgs, the dead citizens of Stormwind. . . . . . it was all his fault. Dagger's Dreams Moonwillow stood up as Bronil rose up to the door. She hadn't inspected his attempt at first aid too much, she judged it was fit enough to keep her alive long enough to get some rest. She had no intention of going anywhere public for some time. "I'll be safe here for the time I'll need. For now I need some time alone. But I do see some scatttering images beginning to coalesce in my mind. Thoughts, languages, not Kaldorei, not Human, and I don't even think it's demonic. The images I see are those of a large city within burning sands. A large city with a giant six-sided gate, peopled with beings that make what we call giants seem like gnomes in comparison. A city whose streets are filled with sand but whose buildings show no marks of age. Within this city a temple also as gigantic. I see a giant within, dressed in clerical vestments, with markings of madness. I see this being both there, there, and there, singing to itself and each other. Singing songs of a dark tomorrow. He sings of the hunt of demons as they were prey and the end of all life not of thier own kind." "That's all I can see, and it's more than I dare with any hint of safety. For now though you must go, You must find our enemy but you are not yet prepared to face what must needs be faced. You will know the way as the beginning of your road will be marked by three signs. Fire..... Blood..... " She paused turning away from him for a moment. And Loss." "Go now, Bronil. When I am more myself, someday I will forgive you. But I have my own journey to make before I can reach that plateau. I will however leave you with something. I do have a potent enchantment which I discovered during my travels. My search for it started all this, and given all that has happened, we might as well have some good come from it. As it is, you have many demons ahead of you on the trail that you will hunt and this will be potent against them. Give me your blade and owe me no thanks for you will use this enchantment in as much my service as your own." As Bronil unslung his weapon Moonwillow reached into her pouch and readied her enchanting rod and a variety of reagents, glowing motes and an elixir recognisable as one frequently applied to weapons by those hunting demons. Chanting softly, the reagents were suffused and then absorbed into an orange glow that flowed into her and into Bronil's blade. The glow intensified and then subsided from her, leaving the blade glowing with it's own light. "There.. as my blood as been shed here, go shed those of our enemies, those of our people, those of the Rangers, and that of the one we share." The Slayer Remade After his sword had been returned to him, Bronil could feel the power now flowing within the blade. It was fitting that he should use this blade to destroy Demonslayer for good. Like Demonslayer, this blade was also specifically designed to slay demons, and Moonwillow's enchantment made it even more effective. Yet, unlike Demonslayer, this blade was not inherently evil. He knew this because he had overseen every step of its crafting personally. It all began in Shadowmoon Valley. When he infiltrated Legion Hold, he came across a strange shard. After speaking with the Wildhammer smiths, it became evident that the shard was harmless to everything except demons; likely the Burning Legion was looking for a way to deal with the demons that served the Betrayer. Initially forged in the flames of the Hand of Gul'dan, and then empowered with various relics scattered throughout Outland, the blade was finally completed. It was more powerful than the blade Demonslayer once dwelt in, and despite the Legion's initial plans, the blade would sever all demons regardless of who their masters were; Bronil intended to see to that personally. Naturally, he wanted to thank Moonwillow. However, he could tell that she was serious about being left alone. Besides, the best way to show his thanks was to track Demonslayer down and finish the job. Saying no more and nodding at Moonwillow, he got on Wind's back and rode out of the village. You will know the way as the beginning of your road will be marked by three signs. Fire..... Blood..... and Loss. The prophetic words echoed throughout his mind as he rode; especially the last part. Loss. But loss of what, or whom? Moonwillow's body language seemed to indicate loss of the latter type, and likely someone important to Bronil. A list of likely candidates formed in his mind, but he ignored it and forced it out of his mind. To hell with her predictions! No one was dying so long as he still drew breath. . . He Who Makes a Beast of Himself It has been some time since I last wrote in this journal; much has happened since then. Rather than write a long-winded account, I will skip ahead to the present situation (which may turn out to be long-winded itself). An enemy from my past that I initially thought defeated has resurfaced. Long ago I wielded a blade that was remarkably efficient at slaying demons. However, the blade turned out to be cursed. I did my best to destroy it by sundering the blade and throwing it into the fires of the Khaz Modan mountains. The blade was destroyed, but the malevolent spirit that dwelt within was not. This Demonslayer now seeks to fuse itself with me. On top of this enemy are two others: Vashj and Kael'thas. Some time ago I joined forces with a group of warriors (known simply as the Bandits. . . don't ask) who sought to defeat powerful enemies by directly assaulting their strongholds. Currently we are penetrating the defenses of Serpentshrine Cavern, and the heart of Tempest Keep, and our progress has been remarkable; I do not boast when I say I think we will soon be looking at the Black Temple from the inside. My list of enemies continues to grow, and so does their power. I have come to see these Bandits as trusted companions, some even friends; each individual is extremely capable and I would not wish to trade blows with any of them. But they alone are not enough. . . I must return to being a Beastmaster. I have tried many times to distance myself from the feral power inside of me, in fear that I would not be strong enough to control it. Yet, if I am to defeat these enemies before me, I will need to be as strong as possible, and I am strongest as a Beastmaster. I will not fail in this task. I have hunted demons without becoming one myself; I will not become a beast either. -Bronil Nightwind You Know How to Use That Thing? If by some magical spell all of the dwarves in existence were transformed into weapons, I have no doubt they would all be rifles and siege weapons; ballistic weaponry suits them very well. I once shared the road from Menethil Harbor to Ironforge with a druid by the name of Opalath. My leg had been injured in a recent battle, so we walked. Opalath was on his first visit to the Eastern Kingdoms, and we spoke of the many things we saw; one of which being a team of Ironforge Mountaineers. Inevitably, we came to the age-old discussion of bows versus guns. While Opalath did not seem to have an opinion, I expressed my preference of bows, and listed my reasons; I practically swore I would never use anything that used bullets. Yet, as I write this, I can see my Arcanite Steam Pistol out of the corner of my eye. Yes, *my* steam pistol; I recently acquired it on a foray into Tempest Keep with the Bandits. It has more penetration than my crossbow, and I was the only one present that used ranged weaponry. Thus, the steam pistol was practically thrown at me. The steam pistol has more penetration than my crossbow, and is better suited to my role in the Bandits (slay enemies from a distance whilst Master Deren and Druidess Shangril'la keep them occupied), so I have not discarded it, and will not do so until a more suitable weapon comes my way. Still, my position in the bows versus guns debate remains unchanged. Bows are quieter, allowing for stealth and better ambushing, more easily maintained, do not require a strap to be worn over the shoulder, and arrows are often reusable and do not have to be surgically dug out of a corpse to be reused. Lastly, having actually used a gun, I can now extinguish the myth held by some that bows are for "wimps" with firsthand experience: it takes far more muscular strength to draw a bowstring than to pull a trigger. -Bronil Nightwind Coin of Ancestry For a long time I have thought Celesst and myself to be among the last of the Nightwind line; sometimes I even thought that we are the last. Yet, the latter thought is born more out of despair and sadness rather than logic, and I am happy to say I shall never entertain it again. Through some information given to me by the High Ranger, I have encountered another Nightwind: Elder Nightwind. I distinctly remember him from my childhood. You see, he was one of the druids along with Siang that supported my request to join the Circle. In the end of course, my request was turned down, supposedly because I was too much of a risk or not strong enough (depending upon to whom you spoke). Some thought that Elder Nightwind's support came from family bias, but I learned that was not so when I spoke to him recently in Felwood of all places. He desperately wanted me to join the Circle out of fear for my life. He sensed a great feral power within me when I was very young, and he was certain that training from the Circle would be the only way I could control it, rather than the other way around. At one time I would have denied I held such a power, but I have since learned that denying it would be much like denying that water is wet. The Circle, he told me, was of an opposite opinion. They felt that training me would only serve to exacerbate the matter. All of this of course was debated behind closed doors, and had not been revealed to me until now. That Elder Nightwind would go so far as to divulge private meetings of the Circle is a testament to how serious he takes this issue even now. He was most relieved to learn that Jocaste's training has served where the Circle's will not. Still, it did not completely put his fears to rest. As he warned me to tread with great caution in my travels, he pressed a coin into my hand, a coin of ancestry, and said "So you will remember who you are." After that, we shared our stories of what had happened since the Third War and parted on friendly terms. With all of the fighting in Outland, a world apart from that of my home, it easy to lose one's sense of self, and meeting with Elder Nightwind has helped alleviate that. Soon I will head for home for some much needed rest and company. Thank you for everything you have done for me, Elder Nightwind, then and now. -Bronil Nightwind To Keep a Promise As is so often the case, I have not written in this journal for a good length of time. The reason for this, as is so often the case, is that I find myself caught between two polarities. I once made a promise to my elder brother to look after Celesst. Soon thereafter, I made another promise to myself, which was to kill every demon I could so that the tragedy that befell my family along with countless others would not be repeated. Thus, Bronil the demon hunter was born. However, these two promises soon evolved to include more than Celesst and demons. While Celesst is closer to my heart than anything else in this world, she is not the only person capable of moving it. When I traveled beyond Teldrassil and saw the unjust suffering of others, I found myself wanting to protect them from that suffering, just as I would for my sister. And demons? While I consider them to be the greatest threat of all, they are not the only threat; thus I have hunted others besides demons. In an effort to carry out these promises of mine, I have killed many. In fact, I have killed so many that I no longer seem capable of mourning their loss as I once did. I used to painfully record the final sounds of death my enemies made as they died: the gurgling sound caused by an arrow to the throat, the cry of horror that would soon be silenced once Kodrak delivered the final blow, the sounds of tissue and bone being ruptured by my blades. My ears now seem deaf to these sounds after hearing them so many times; my memory only has a vague recollection that it happened. Once I realized this new sense of apathy, I began to wonder what had happened to my soul. I can only seem to find solace in the fact that I am not so far gone that killing has become a joy; it remains something I wish I did not have to do. Or does it? Awhile back, I attended a beach party held by friends. Everyone was happy. That is, everyone except me; I was restless. Among the plentiful food, fireworks, and women in revealing outfits, I found only discomfort; a discomfort that came from not having a single enemy in sight. My hand seemed constantly drawn toward my skinning knife, and my eyes were looking at likely points of ambush; not bathing suits or food. I returned home thinking that being away from it for so long was the cause of this restlessness. I thought that seeing my sister's smile would make me forget all my cares. I put my armor in a vault and asked Tyron to hide my weapons (including my skinning knife). If I could distance myself from being a hunter, then surely I would remember what it is like to just be a kaldorei. For a time, it worked. But soon I found myself constantly wondering where my weapons had been hidden. Thus my polarities: I do not want to kill anyone, but at the same time, it seems I cannot think straight unless I have an adversary in front of me. It has been suggested to me in the past, mainly by dwarves, that I am insane. Lately I have wondered whether or not there is some truth to that. -Bronil Nightwind The Many Faces of Bronil Nightwind It is a remarkable thing that so often the answer to many of life's complex problems is found in children. As such, I now have a better idea of why I do what I do. High Ranger Moonrunner recently held another of her public gatherings at the Moonwood Lodge. This time, the purpose of the gathering was centered around orphans, many of whom had attached themselves to travelers as is common during Children's Week. Unfortunately, I walk in places where a child's footprints do not belong, so I was one of the few at the gathering who did not have any orphans. Nonetheless, I still made an effort to attend; if for nothing else than to take my mind off of my current problems. Yet, as I looked at all of the orphans at the gathering, I could not help but see myself in many of them. Regrettably, many of the orphans are products of the Third War, just like myself. No; not bjust/b like myself. When my parents were taken by war, I had over a hundred years worth of memories of them; many of the orphans don't have ten, some do not even have one. Though by kaldorei standards I was little more than a child when my parents died, a hundred years is a hundred years no matter who you are. Still, these orphans and I share something profound, even if we do not share it in exactly the same way as one another. Like a ray of light piercing the darkness, a revelation suddenly struck me. I am more than a kaldorei; I am a part of something much bigger than myself. So long as there is pain and loss in the world, there will always be a Bronil Nightwind born out of that sorrow who has made their sorrow their strength. How many of those children will grow up to become warriors against that which causes them to suffer? How many Bronils were gathered around that campfire? There are many places in this journal where I have stated my reasons for fighting; vengeance, love, justice, peace, and so on. Yet, they can all be summed up as this: I fight to create a world where Bronil Nightwind, and those like him, are no longer needed. In a sense, I fight for a world where I do not exist. -Bronil Nightwind Stories A cool wind blew over the cliffs of Nagrand, made cooler by the absence of sunlight. Along the tops of the northernmost cliffs, a campfire gave off a bright orange glow that pushed back the night. Kodrak was lying down and eating his share of the talbuk steak casually, as if he was in Celesst's house enjoying Tyron's cooking. He looked completely normal, aside from the three children who had turned him into a couch. If their weight troubled him, he gave no sign of it; but then, he had endured far worse. This was the bear who had gone toe-to-toe with one of the pit lords of Legion Hold and came out bloodied, but breathing. That particular story was one of the children's favorites, but Bronil had told that one last night. They wanted different stories tonight. "Tell us a story about falling in love. I know! Maybe you saved a beautiful princess once?" Sa'rah asked with a sudden burst of eagerness that had turned her attention away from Kodrak. She sat by his head, petting him almost constantly and making sure he always had food. "You always want a story about love" Jara complained with a grimace. He sat leaning up against Kodrak's hind leg next to Sa'rah. Her mouth began to offer a retort, but Chaddo was too quick. "Yeah, love is stupid," Chaddo agreed, sitting on top of Kodrak. His wooden sword that Bronil had made for him rested in it's leather sheath, which Bronil had also made, across his back. Bronil made a similar axe and leather device for holding it for Jara. The two of them had quickly become sparring partners and good friends. Bronil smiled, "For one who travels alone, there are a surprising number of women in my life, but none of them are princesses and they are all well armed. They could just as well save me, as I they," Sa'rah smiled triumphantly; she preferred women to have stronger roles in stories than damsels in distress, despite her suggestion that Bronil tell a story about rescuing a princess. "rest assured, Sa'rah, I will tell you a story that I think would suit your tastes, but not tonight, for I believe I still owe Jara a story about orcs." Jara's eyes lit up with the thirst of one who wanted to learn everything about where they came from; Bronil had seen that look from many orphans. Chaddo looked puzzled, "You're a calorie. How could you know about orcs?" In response, Sa'rah scolded him by slapping his knee and the two entered a glaring contest that got called off when Bronil spoke again. "Kaldorei" he corrected, "and I will tell you how I know about orcs. I have fought both with, and against them. They are one of the best allies you could ask for, and for enemies there are none fiercer in battle. Their rage is a weapon, and it is tempered by the honor of their clans." It was a given that Jara would be captivated, and indeed he was, but Chaddo and Sa'rah had also taken an interest now; they too were curious about Jara and his people. No doubt they would soon ask for stories about their own peoples. Bronil did not entirely look forward to that. Telling a story about Sa'rah's people would be. . . difficult. He immediately put the thought aside and resumed his storytelling. "Let me tell you about the son of Durotan." Many orphans would have rolled their eyes, for Thrall's legend is well known and has been retold too many times to count. Yet judging by the three faces that looked at him, they knew Thrall only by name, if that, and wanted to know more. He had considered telling them the story of Oronok instead, but decided that Thrall's story would best acquaint Jara with his heritage. . . . . . Bronil let himself go on for a minute after Jara finally nodded off and joined the other two in sleep. Or rather, the other three; Kodrak slept as well, and had gone from being a couch to being a pillow. The children's heads rose and fell with Kodrak's slow breathing, creating one big sleeping mound. Bronil covered them all in fur blankets and put some more logs on the fire. Satisfied, he walked to the edge of the cliff, and looked out over Nagrand, the night wind flapping his black cloak slightly. Two boys, orc and human, and a sin'dorei girl. Playing and living together as though their racial differences mean very little. As though the Warmaul ogres in the valley just below, and the demon forge camps west of here do not exist. He turned his head back towards the sleeping pile of fur and wondered how long it could continue. If any of the malevolent forces in Outland did not take them first, how long would it be before their racial differences started to matter? Would Sa'rah fall victim to the addiction that plagues her people, or is she young enough to not have developed one? His head turned skyward as Mush'al, his netherdrake brother, made his nightly patrol of the surrounding area. Elune, whatever amount of your power you spend on watching over me, I ask you to please give it to these children. They have it in them to succeed where I have failed. Reassigned The High Ranger thinks I am in need of being reminded why I fight, and according to her, I have grown distant of late; moreso than usual. She even went so far as to suggest I was showing similarities to the Demon Hunters. I did not appreciate the remark, and had she not been who she is, I may have very well said some harsh, cold words. Yet, because she is who she is, I am giving her the benefit of the doubt; I will assume the remark was meant to grab attention, not as a judgement call. Her solution was to give me a new assignment. For two weeks, I must be a father to orphans under the care of Mistress Challe in the northern mountain range of Nagrand. My weapons and armor are to be used only for self-defense or hunting. The first week has gone by very well, and the children have taken a great liking to me. At first, they were interested primarily in playing with Kodrak, but then they learned that I had many stories. Since then, they seem to think I am Jarod Shadowsong come again or some such. I do not agree that I need this "reminding", but I must admit I find myself somewhat at ease around these children. Somewhat. I do not fully trust Mistress Challe. On the surface, she is an exemplary caregiver whose primary concern is for the children. Yet behind her hut are three cages, one of which has skeletal remains inside. There is a dog house, but no dog is found anywhere on the premises. Inside the dog house is a half-eaten corpse. Given the savage tendencies of some trolls, I begin to fear what Mistress Challe puts in that cooking pot of hers. However, the children do not seem to be afraid of her in the slightest, Kodrak does not growl at her, and the evidence against her is not exactly damning. For now, I am hoping that this place of hers previously belonged to unsavory occupants, and she has not been able to remove what they left behind. That being said, I have made it a point to check on the children periodically after the two weeks have passed. -Bronil Nightwind Sparring Lessons They were so sad to see me leave; perhaps I should have-- The thought was interrupted as a spear's bladed edge glanced across Bronil's right shoulder, leaving a line of blood in its wake. Jocaste grinned, "I hope staying with those children hasn't made you too soft" Bronil frowned, and used one of his broad axe blades as a makeshift shield to deflect another spear thrust aimed at his chest. He shouldn't be surprised that Jocaste knew of his latest assignment. No doubt the High Ranger told half of Teldrassil he thought wryly. Their sparring picked up pace, and Bronil had no more time for idle thoughts. Jocaste moved her spear about like a viper, and he did not have his armor to rely on, only his axework. Because he was an "advanced pupil" she used a real spear when sparring so that he "would take extra care to remember to parry". No, I should let them be; they are strong. Afterall, I am not-- Jocaste twirled the spear as she spun on her heel, and something hard stuck him from behind; or was it from the side? His awareness faded into a world of black where he seemed half-asleep, with voices from the past his only company. . . "You want to be like me?" Siang looked truly honored for a moment, but quickly put on his usual smirk that seemed to find amusement in everything. "There are enough odd characters in the Nightwind line. Live a happy life and raise a family, Bronil. Tell your children all kinds of stories about crazy Uncle Siang." "You try so much to be like father," Celesst shook her head slightly at drawing the comparison. He truly did remind her of their father, always looking out for his family before himself. "Ande'thoras-ethil, brother." "Against demons you strike as quick as a snake, and as cold. Yet with all other enemies you are far too merciful." Jocaste fixed her gaze on him in a way that diverted all attention to her, "You are not your brother. You cannot heal the land, nor the people who suffer in it. You are a Hunter, and much of your world will be kill or be killed." "Enemies will always be with us, Bronil. You can't defeat all of them, and not all by yourself." Bronil was surprised. It was not like Lunaea to say something non-flirtatious to him, and to call him by name rather than "Handsome". As though she had read his mind, she continued, "Besides, you are meant to be a father and I think you will sire three very strong-willed daughters." Makazradon glared at Bronil, his eyes full of hatred. "Enjoy your 'victory' while it lasts, mortal. I will return from the Nether, and you and your world will burn in Sargeras' magnificence soon enough." The pit lord would have sounded more convincing if his body wasn't covered in arrows and claw marks He tried to answer the voices, but the words would not form sentences. All he could do was drift in the blackness as the voices continued. . . Jocaste hung her spear on its rack, and sighed. For whatever reason, Nightwind never fought her with everything he had. He held back enough of his power and speed to where the only difference between them was technique, and hers was usually better. She was actually pleased at this decision of his: not only did it teach him control, but helped to better illustrate the techniques she taught him. Today was different, though. She could tell his mind was in too many places at once. Even if he had not held back, his lack of focus still would have been enough to bring him defeat. She dressed the wound on his shoulder, then spoke to him; not caring that he was unconscious. "You need to calm your mind before coming at me again, Nightwind." Then she grinned, "I think I will let you sleep on it." The Lesson of the Rabbit Like so many things, our world is far from perfect. It is. . . flawed. . . by natural disaster, diseases, and war most of all. There is so much suffering that I often wonder if peace is not a dream, but an abnormality; something that simply does not and cannot exist in the world, as though the natural order of things actively seeks to keep it out. Yet in the midst of all of this, even the simple, powerless rabbit raises a family and pushes on as best it can. This is the lesson of the rabbit, as it was explained to me by the High Ranger. My assignment at Mistress Challe's orphanage was supposed to teach me this lesson. I was to see that even though Warmaul ogres inhabited the valley below, the orphanage perservered. I was then supposed to reach the conclusion that I should not concern myself with defeating the Legion so much that I do so at the cost of living my life to the fullest. Supposed to, but did not. What I learned is this: I am not a father; I am a Hunter. A father guides and follows his family. I guide my arrows, and follow the tracks of demons. Drakkisath's brand marks my right palm, a medallion of Karabor hangs about my neck and grants me entry into the Black Temple, my weapons are always on my person, and most of the time I am in my armor. None of these things belongs on a father, and while I will gladly risk my life for Jara, Chaddo, Sa'rah, for any child, I will not be there to comfort them when they are sick, hungry, or frightened. I will not be there because I will be out hunting; hunting those who would harm them; hunting so they do not have to. The rabbit has the right of things; one can indeed live a normal life even when surrounded by war and calamity. . . but I am not like the rabbit. I have the means to fight back when my home is threatened. And I intend to. -Bronil Nightwind Home Again This may be the first entry I have penned sitting in my home, in front of the fireplace; with a blanket no less, as though I were old and frail. In truth, I do not need the blanket, but Celesst seems to think so, and there is little I can deny my sister. Besides, it makes for a decent tabletop when I spread my legs slightly to make the blanket taut. Also, the air in Dolanaar is unexpectedly cold tonight, so perhaps a blanket would not be amiss once the fire goes out. I suppose an explanation is in order as to why I am here instead of Outland. I must confess I do not entirely understand it myself. Something came over me in Outland and I simply lost the will to continue fighting; there or anywhere else. It seemed like apathy at first glance, yet I knew it was not. I wanted to continue fighting the Legion, but my mind and body did not. So I did the only thing that made any sense and returned home. After many hours of reflection here at home, the best conclusion I can reach is that I am tired. Everyone has their limits and I believe I have reached mine. Perhaps I spent too long fighting too far away from home; away from the reasons I started fighting in the first place. Then again, perhaps it is something else entirely. As with all things, only time will tell. At the very least, I believe coming home was a step in the right direction. For once, I do not feel the burning desire to return to harm's way; just the opposite in fact. I feel that it is here that I belong, not the field of battle. -Bronil Nightwind Oath and Practicality For three weeks I have been living here peacefully. Celesst is certainly glad to finally have me back for more than a day or two, and because she is happy, so is Tyron. A great one for jokes, Tyron has often remarked that things around the house will be run better now that there is another male to counteract "silly feminine notions". Yet perhaps the real joke is on Tyron. He has made it known to me many times in the past that his favorite thing in the entire world is to see my sister smile. As a result, he denies Celesst nothing, and it is quite clear who runs this house regardless of how many males are present. This entire time I have been without arms and armor, and enjoying it. However, I know it will never last. I am a Hunter, and my place is not in front of a hearth with loved ones. Fate has once again proven this to be true. I have donned arms and armor again, and Celesst is not smiling. There have been many reports of the undead striking at capital cities around the world, as well as Booty Bay. The Argent Dawn has dispatched aid, so this is no minor threat, nor a rumor. As a Ranger, I have sworn to protect my people by life or death. With events in Outland still taking place, I may very well be one of the few Rangers currently in Azeroth. Thus, by oath and practicality, I must investigate this new threat. -Bronil Nightwind A Gift to a Monster Is it also my fate to watch women fall to the Scourge? After I had heard of Priestess Sonata's fate years ago, I hoped to never experience such tragic news ever again. She later visited me in Darnassus, and I nearly wept at what was left of her. I almost wanted her to try and kill me so that I could forget who she was and what she had become. I prayed I would never have to see the like again. Prayers have once again availed me nothing. Ranger Lunaea was dispatched to the port town of Ratchet to investigate Scourge activity. The only thing we learned from her is that the Scourge are indeed there. We know this because we have recieved her. . . remains. As a courtesy to the High Ranger, the Argent Dawn's healers are trying unsuccessfully to ressurect her. I will not go near them nor her. Lunaea tried fervently to gain my affections, and she would not want this to be my last memory of her. She was not the last of it, however. There was a woman in Stormwind who sold bread until a ghoul killed her shortly before my arrow killed it. The woman rose up as something else, and did what I had wanted Priestess Sonata to do. I wish someone would tell me whether I slew a monster, or gave a suffering woman the only gift I could. I have investigated and seen enough. Shattrath is a war zone, and Stormwind has abominations and frost wyrms on its doorstep; the other cities are on their way to becoming graveyards. Darnassus' location makes it hard to assail, but also hard to reinforce. I must go there before I lose anyone else, and I fear I will not find any abominations or wyrms there. No; I will be defending Darnassus from itself. -Bronil Nightwind King, Thy Name is Traitor "I look like I just came from Booty Bay," Bronil frowned as he looked at his reflection in the water by the Temple of the Moon. If he had a rapier at his hip, he would be the very image of a swashbuckler. "Nonsense, you look dashing." Celesst replied with a smile; she was practically beaming. The smile became a smirk, "If you aren't careful, Bron, you just might pick up a wife. Come on, we don't want to miss the boat to Stormwind." As Bronil followed his sister with a sigh towards the docks, something tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, only to find Tyron holding out a sheathed rapier. "You dropped this." Tyron's innocent tone was spoiled by a grin from ear to ear. King, Thy Name is Traitor I now write this entry while sitting aboard a ship to Northrend. It has been many weeks since the Scourge made their strikes at the capitals and Azeroth at large. I am pleased to note that my family is safe, though I mourn for my neighbors who fell; may the Goddess bring them peace in the next life. Furthermore, I am pleased to report that Ranger Lunaea has been revived, though her memory of what happened is very clouded. I have been advised not to speak to her of the mission that led to her fall. After turning aside the initial thrust of the Scourge, the Alliance and Horde have decided to strike at Northrend. I would have gladly been on the first ship out, but Celesst wanted to spend some time seeing the sights of Stormwind before I left her once more. As a result of indulging my sister, my hair has been cut short, and I have been given a "dashing" new set of clothes. To say that I am eager to aid the Alliance in Northrend is no lie. However, it also no lie to say that I plan to use extreme caution; more so than usual. The Lich King certainly knows we are coming, but I believe that is exactly what he wants. When the Legion attacked at the Portal, they brought enough force for an invasion, and their line of defense beyond the portal clearly demonstrated that they did not want us to come to Outland. This latest attack from the Scourge was. . . lacking. Their timing was perfect and coordinated, and most of Azeroth's forces were engaged in Outland. By all rights the fall of Lordaeron should have been repeated across the world. Not for a single moment do I mean to disparage the defense efforts and lives lost in the Scourge's attack, but I cannot shake this feeling that we were. . . allowed. . . to be victorious. My instincts tell me this attack was meant solely to draw our eyes and blades northward. Thus, we are making an assault into a trap; a trap that must be faced. If it is not, we will allow the Lich King a chance for a second strike at our cities, and I do not think it would be a feint this time. -Bronil Nightwind End of [[Forgotten_Journal_of_Bronil_Nightwind | '''The Forgotten Journal of Bronil Nightwind']] ' Book 5' [<--- Book 4] | Category:Lore